He threw a pretty gold chain around her neck as he spoke, and she took her seat amidst murmurs of approval from all the audience.
Susan had gained what she had been striving for so long. The prize was her’s; but all her enjoyment in it was gone.
At recess, the girls crowded round Florence to condole with her; and, though some few spoke of Susan’s proposal as a very generous one, most of them treated it with contempt.
“Fine words cost nothing,” said Florence. “She knew of course that Mr. Worcester would never give me the prize without reading my piece.”
Her listeners agreed to this sentiment, and, “It’s very strange where the composition can have gone,” was re-echoed again and again by one and another. “Such things don’t go without hands!” said some, with significant glances at each other and Susan.
Poor Susan! Her day of triumph was a most wretched one!
She gained some other prizes,—as did Florence also; but at night, when she went to her room to put them away, she shed bitter tears over her honours.
The suspicions of her schoolmates with regard to the share she had in the betrayal of her cousin’s secret were just beginning to be forgotten; and now she felt that a second time she was exposed to a similar trial.
Cold looks, sneering remarks, neglect and dislike were again to be her bitter portion. And, as she had foreseen, all this came upon her.
Days and weeks passed on, and nothing had been heard of the missing essay. Wretched days and weeks were those to poor Susan.